


Everybody Knows the Claus

by dollylux



Series: Fic Advent Calendar 2015: Siblings, Husbands, Lovely Ladies, and Other Miscreants [20]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Santa Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worried that Tilda is losing her belief in Santa, Bard dresses up as the man himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Knows the Claus

**Author's Note:**

> day twenty | prompt: red
> 
> A story for my [The Start of Something](http://archiveofourown.org/series/199331) series.

“How do I look?”

Bard is sweating, probably because of the thick velvet fabric he’s wearing, but Thranduil can tell that he’s nervous, too.

He smiles, reaching up to run his fingers through the soft, silver curls of his beard and over his padded-soft chest and jolly round tummy.

“Well, I want you to deck _my_ halls,” Thranduil tells him matter-of-factly just to see Bard groan and roll his eyes before he laughs. Thranduil smiles, proud of himself, and he tugs down on the beard just enough to expose Bard’s face so he can press a slow kiss to his mouth. “But truly, you look amazing.”

Bard smiles, reaching up to fidget with the beard and with his soft, fluffy Santa hat.

“You’re just saying that because you made the costume,” he says.

“Well,” Thranduil shrugs, tucking his hands into the pockets of Bard’s red coat and tugging him toward the living room. “That’s just a bonus. Look at your rosy cheeks!”

Bard squints at him through his glasses, and Thranduil can tell that he’s probably smirking under the mountain of silver beard.

“I can’t believe you talked me into wearing blush.”

“You’re supposed to look jolly,” Thranduil points out with a delicately raised eyebrow. “That’s not my fault. And you want Tilda to believe it, right?”

“Right,” Bard sighs mostly to himself, wiggling his hands in his black gloves and taking a deep breath that he lets out in a rush. “Okay. Okay. I’m ready.”

“Alright. Hang back for a few minutes and then start the rustling. Don’t worry. I’m an incredible actor.”

Bard’s smirk is so full that Thranduil can actually see it through the Santa beard.

“You? Good at being dramatic? Nooo.”

Thranduil glares at him as best as he can, gripping the front of Bard’s coat to give him a playful push back.

“Careful. Your Mrs. Claus is wearing some sexy red panties that he might want to show you later if you’re very good,” he tells him, putting his hands on his hips just so Bard will look down. (He does, his eyes rounded out and huge, and he licks his lips and accidentally a few silvery strands of synthetic hair.)

“Fuck it,” Bard says, not blinking as he reaches out for Thranduil’s lithe body, the curves of his hips in his slinky grey pajama pants, “let’s give the kids some NyQuil and head back to the North P--”

“Baaard,” Thranduil murmurs, prying himself out of Bard’s strong hands and walking backwards towards the living room and their gathered children. “Focus. Give me three minutes.”

They blow each other some truly saccharine kisses before Thranduil slips away, walking into the living room where the kids are bundled up on a little island of blankets and pillows in front of the television, closer to the fire than the couch is, watching _The Muppet Christmas Carol_. 

He sinks down on the couch and reaches for his knitting; a sumptuous, cream-colored cowl that will complete his outfit for his and Bard’s anniversary night. The kids pay him absolutely no mind, all of them completely fixated on the movie. They’re so fixated, in fact, that none of them react to the sound of bells jingling outside in the front yard. 

Thranduil watches the backs of their heads, his eyebrows raised as the bells jingle-jangle on unheard, and he finally sighs, putting down his knitting and schooling his face into absolute surprise.

“What’s that?!” he gasps suddenly, four heads spinning around to look at him in alarm and interest.

“What’s what?” Sigrid asks, jumping up and leaning forward like she’s trying to hear better.

“You don’t hear it?” Thranduil says, giving her a quick wink. “The… what is that? _Bells_ outside?”

“Ohh,” she replies with a grin, looking pleased at being involved in the adult end of these shenanigans. “Wow, I hear them! What could that be?”

Legolas and Bain turn around to smile at Thranduil before they scramble to their feet. Legolas leans down to speak quietly to Tilda who is frozen on the blanket island, her big blue eyes blinking owlishly as she strains to listen.

“Do you hear it?” Legolas whispers, his own eyes lifted to the ceiling. “It sounds like--”

“Ho, ho, ho! Meeeeerry Christmas!” comes a voice from the foyer, and it’s so terrible, sounds _so_ much like Bard that Thranduil can barely keep a straight face.

“Santa!” Tilda shrieks, flying up from the blankets and dashing out of the living room toward the front door. Sigrid settles in on the couch next to Thranduil and snuggles up to him, dragging a blanket with her so that they’re covered up. Thranduil wraps an arm around her and draws her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her sweet-smelling head.

“Your father is ridiculous,” he whispers.

“Believe me, I know,” Sigrid replies, tipping her head back to grin at Thranduil just as Bard appears in the doorway with a starry-eyed Tilda in tow.

“Well, isn’t this a beautiful family!” Bard--err, Santa says, one hand splayed on his jolly belly as he surveys the Doriath-Bowman family (minus one key character, of course). He catches Thranduil’s eye and winks at him, and Thranduil smiles back so hard that his nose crinkles.

“Hello, Santa! Wow, we weren’t expecting to see you here so early! I bet you’re very busy tonight,” Thranduil says, carding his fingers through Sigrid’s long, brown waves and holding Bard’s gaze for as long as he can.

Bain and Legolas are back on the blankets, their mouths hidden by pillows to mask their snickers surely, and Santa turns to give them what Thranduil assumes is supposed to be a stern look before he turns his attention back to Tilda.

“Well, yes, lovely Thranduil,” Santa says in a cheerful tone even though his eyes linger a little too long on Thranduil, “but I knew I needed to make a quick stop in Rhovanion to give a special gift to a very special girl.”

Tilda just stares at him, her eyes massive and shiny, mouth curled in a soft little _o_ of amazement.

“Me?” she whispers.

“That’s right!” Santa reaches into the bag he’s carrying that Thranduil made out of two yards of the same gorgeous red velvet out of which he’d made Bard’s Santa suit, and he pulls out a two-foot, extravagantly wrapped gift with a real silk bow and a tiny silver reindeer charm dangling from the nametag. 

Tilda actually gasps.

“Now, let’s see,” Santa says, holding the box in one hand and reaching into his pocket to pull out a folded-up piece of paper. “I received this letter a couple of weeks ago--”

“That’s my letter! He got my letter!” Tilda exclaims, turning to Thranduil and Sigrid on the couch as she hops up and down excitedly. Thranduil has to tuck his face into the couch cushion to keep her from seeing how hard he’s grinning.

“--and so I’m pretty sure you’re going to like this,” Santa finishes, holding out the box for Tilda to take from him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be over here eating these cookies and drinking that delicious looking glass of milk.”

Tilda hugs the box to her chest and nods at him solemnly.

“The cookies are peanut butter kiss cookies. They’re vegan but they’re good, I promise,” she informs him. “And the milk is almonds!”

“My favorite,” Santa replies, giving her a wink before guiding her into the living room proper so she can open her gift. He comes to sit on the arm of the couch near Thranduil and reaches for a cookie on the plate, taking a bite out of it and making exaggerated yummy noises. “My compliments to the chef!”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Thranduil tells him, biting at his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “He always uses too much sugar though.”

“Impossible,” Santa sniffs, taking a few sips of almond milk.

Sigrid has her phone out beside him and is filming Tilda where she’s curled up on the floor in front of her big box, untying the bow like it’s sacred and tearing into the silvery blue wrapping paper after she slides the string with the reindeer charm onto her little arm.

The shriek she lets out probably startles every single deer within a ten mile radius, not to mention the human beings in the house.

“AN R2-D2 INTERACTIVE DROID!” She grabs the box and clutches it to her chest again, turning to gasp at Thranduil and at Santa. “He! He has ten buttons that you can use to program over 1000 action combinations!”

“You don’t say,” Thranduil replies, reaching around Santa to grab a cookie for himself. They had read the description of the R2-D2 on the website over a hundred times, and Tilda always closed the tab sadly and moped around the house for at least thirty minutes afterwards.

If that isn’t love, Thranduil doesn’t know what is.

“Do you want us to help you get it set up?” Bain asks where he’s now settled in behind her, smiling like he can’t help but be charmed by her excitement. She can only nod as she pets the box and stares at the picture of her favorite _Star Wars_ character on the front of it before Bain reaches for it and starts to open it up.

Tilda looks back at Santa with tears in her eyes, and Thranduil finds his throat tightening completely unexpectedly at the look of earnest gratitude on her face.

“Thank you, Santa,” she whispers, hesitating for just a second before jumping up and throwing her arms around Santa’s waist, nearly spilling the glass of almond milk in his hand. Thranduil takes it from him so Bard can hug her back.

“You’re welcome,” Santa says, sounding a little too much like Bard, but Tilda is too far gone to notice. “You deserve it for being such a good girl and for helping your Dad and Ada so much.”

Bain and Legolas get the toy turned on, because the sudden beep-bop-booping sounds from behind her draw Tilda’s attention immediately. She meets Santa’s eyes, looking torn between spending more time with her current idol or playing with her dream toy. Santa gives her a gentle pat on the cheek, and Thranduil's heart catches at the look of love in his eyes.

“Go play. Merry Christmas, Tilda.”

“Merry Christmas, Santa. Please be careful when you deliver presents. Pull over if the weather gets too bad,” she tells him sternly, giving a final nod before she turns on her heel and flies back over to R2-D2 and the remote control that Bain hands her. Santa stands up and grabs his bag again, turning to face Thranduil who gives him a secret, pleased smile.

“I’m gonna go get changed. I’m about to burn up,” Bard says quietly, reaching out to tuck Thranduil’s hair behind his ear with a gloved hand and sneaking a quick kiss to his forehead before he hurries out of the room. 

R2-D2 is rolling around the whole living room by the time Bard comes back in, wearing a grey henley and his red plaid flannel pajama pants, his arms loaded down with wood, a pretty damn good cover, Thranduil has to admit.

“Where’d that come from?” he asks as he crosses the room to kneel in front of the fireplace.

“Daddy! Santa was here! He told me I was a good girl and he had my letter and he brought me a present!” Tilda tells her father in a breathless rush, her little face bright with pure happiness, and Bard’s smile is nothing but indulgent.

“I ran into him outside as he was leaving. He said Pen-adar put in a good word for you with his reindeer.”

Tilda just stares at him, speechless. R2-D2 whizzes by, beeping gleefully.

“Wow,” she breathes.

“Show me what it does,” Sigrid says, climbing up from the couch and kneeling beside Tilda, ready to be given an exhaustive list of all of R2-D2’s capabilities.

Bard takes her place on the couch, only Thranduil wraps his long legs around him, giving a pleased hum when Bard’s hands stroke over his thigh down to his warmly socked foot. Thranduil hugs Bard back against him and presses a line of kisses from his sweaty neck up behind his ear.

“Tilda’s not the only one who’s gonna get an early present tonight,” he whispers there, rubbing under Bard’s shirt, soft fingers drifting over his hairy stomach. He feels Bard groan as well as hearing it.

“Don’t tell Santa that I’m getting lucky with Mrs. Claus tonight,” he murmurs as he relaxes back in Thranduil’s arms, both of them settling in to watch the kids laugh and play together in the last hours before Christmas comes.

**Author's Note:**

> [werepope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteparadise/pseuds/werepope), my co-conspirator for this series, has written a few stories within the verse for a holiday challenge she and I are doing with a couple of friends!
> 
> Read her stories from this verse and leave her some lovely comments here:
> 
>  
> 
> [A Revolution of Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5425292)  
> [Time Wounds All Heels](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5432840)  
> [A Hidden Mercy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5440445)  
> [All Wasted Chances](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5454779)


End file.
